


Ya Can't Jus' Propose

by LonelyThursday



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, Getting Together, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Race is a disaster gay, Spot is tired of it, Who's she?, almost wedding proposals, historical accuracy?, i don't know her, it's mostly just spot and race, race is a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 19:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyThursday/pseuds/LonelyThursday
Summary: orRace is a dumbass, and Spot wishes he had just stayed in BrooklynAlbert: my ideal man? Well, he'd have to be alive, have a face I guess, oh and a bodyRace: *whispering excitedly to Spot* I fit all of those criteria





	Ya Can't Jus' Propose

**Author's Note:**

> I made a Tumblr post (which is in the summary) and then sarcastic-ace-artist drew it, and it was so cute that I had to write a fic  
I wrote this instead of doing homework or working on Maybe It's Magic, Maybe It's You... so sue me you're not my mom

If you ask Spot, this whole train wreck started with Romeo asking a question. The only mistake Spot made was deciding to visit Race in Manhattan. 

“Sooo…” Romeo asks, sidling up to Albert. He’s made it his mission - for some godforsaken reason - to get Albert a boyfriend, the law and the church be damned. “What’s your ideal man?” 

“My ideal man?” Albert repeats, Romeo nods. “Uh… well he’d have ta be alive, have a face I guess. Oh an’ a body.”

Romeo rolls his eyes at Albert’s unhelpful answer, clearly understanding that Albert has basically just described a _person,_ not who he’d like to date. Race, however, does not seem to understand this. 

“Race?” Spot tries when it becomes clear that Race isn’t paying attention to him anymore, he’s too busy staring at Albert. “Earth ta Racer, ya in there?”

“Didja hear that, Spotty!” Race seizes Spot by the arms, still staring at Albert with a manic grin on his face. “I fit all a those criteria!”

“Yeah?” Spot says slowly. “So do I. And so does like every newsie in New York. All he specified was that he liked men who are _alive.”_

“Shh,” Race releases Spot’s arms to cover his mouth. “Albert loves me, we’se gonna get married.”

Spot rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they’ll just roll out of his head. Of course Albert loves Race, that much is obvious, but the fact that Race has decided this to be true because Albert made _a vague comment_ is really too much for Spot. He should have just stayed in Brooklyn. 

“I should go talk ta him!” Race decides suddenly, releasing Spot completely. 

“Why don’tcha jus’ propose right now?” Spot mutters sarcastically. 

“Yes!” Sarcasm is truly lost on Racetrack Higgins. Race takes a step towards the redhead, but as much as Spot thinks the results of Race proposing right now would be _hilarious,_ he’s too good of a friend to let him go through with it. Spot grabs Race’s arm and drags him back. 

“No, ya dumbass! That was a _joke!_ Jus’ ask ‘im out like a normal person!”

“You’se right, Spotty!” Race declares, and somehow Spot thinks he’s still missing the point. “I oughta plan a romantic proposal! Wit’ a ring an’ everythin’!”

Spot’s jaw drops open. That’s not what he said _at all._ He’s so busy being flabbergasted that he almost misses Race as he turns on his heels and walks in the opposite direction of Albert. Spot’s jaw snaps shut and he quickly follows after his absolute _dumbass_ of a best friend. 

“That is _not_ what I said!”

“Nah, you’se right, Spot.” Race continues walking, he clearly knows where he’s going as he takes long purposeful strides. “A normal person wouldn’t jus’ _propose, _they’d have a plan. I gotta have a plan, gotta make it romantic as _shit!”_

“Do ya hear yerself when ya talk?” Spot asks, genuinely wondering how Race could possibly think that _this_ is the right way to go about getting a boyfriend. When no answer is forthcoming, Spot tries again. “Do ya hear _me_ when _I _talk?”

“‘Course I hear ya when ya talk,” Race replies distractedly. “Ya said propose ta Albie!”

Spot groans. Of course Race only ever hears what he wants to hear, and _of course_ Spot had to make a joke about proposing! That’s just his luck. 

“So what exac’ly-“

Spot cuts himself off as Race takes a sudden left, right into a pawnshop. 

“Race!” Spot follows him into the shop, keeping his voice down as to avoid the attention of the clerk. “Racer, can ya even afford a ring?”

“‘Course I can,” Race replies breezily. “But I ain’t gettin’ him a _ring,_ I’se gonna find him somethin’ else.”

“Earlier ya said ya was gonna get a ring.” By now, Spot’s resigned himself to just humoring Race. 

“Yeah, but then I’se thinkin’ ‘a ring is awful showy an’ what if someone sees it and tries ta take it from him?’ So’s I’se decided ta find him somethin’ less conspicuous.” Race explains with what might be the _only_ bit of logic he’s had since he decided to propose. “What about this?”

Race raises up a silver chain with a small, heart-shaped locket on it. As far as things Race can and _would_ get, it’s not bad. At least Spot doesn’t think it’s bad… until they open the locket to find the inscription ‘For Elizabeth, you were too good for this world, be at peace now.’

“Dead girl’s locket.” Spot says as Race immediately drops it. 

“Yep. What about this?” Race holds up a simple leather wristband. It’s a simple band, no designs or inscriptions, just a leather band. The leather looks a little worn, but it could probably last several more years. 

“That actually looks pretty good, but I do want ta say again, I don’t think ya should be proposin’.”

Race ignores him and heads off to find the clerk. 

Once Race has paid for the leather band, he’s off once more. This time heading in the direction of the Manhattan lodging house. 

“You’re askin’ him _now?”_ Spot asks incredulously, ‘_what happened to “romantic as shit”?’_

“Don’t be stupid, Spot,” Race waves his concern off as he starts climbing the fire escape. “I need a _plan, _and who better ta help me wit’ that than Albert’s best friend?”

“...you?”

“I jus’ told ya ta not be stupid! I’se gonna ask Crutchie.”

“So… you’se _not_ Albert’s best friend?” Honestly, the way Race’s brain works is astounding. 

“‘Course I is!” Race looks offended that Spot would _ever_ insinuate such a thing. “But I don’t count cuz Albie’s in love wit’ me, so’s I gotta ask his second best friend.”

This is starting to give Spot a headache, just trying to follow Race’s thought process. Maybe Spot should send him to that Freud fella that was in the pape recently? _‘He’d probably get a kick outta whatever’s going on up there. ‘_

“Crutchie!” Race calls as he finally climbs over the edge of the roof, Spot right behind him. The rooftop is empty except for some blankets, assorted clothing, and papers… and the disabled blond boy, who's on his back, just staring at the sky. 

“What’s up, Race?” He asks, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“I’se gonna ask Al ta marry me, and I need yer help.” Spot fully expects the other boy to call Race crazy, but there must be something in the water over in ‘Hattan that makes everyone an absolute _moron _because his entire face lights up like this is the best thing he’s ever heard. 

“That’s great!” He yells. 

“No it isn’t!” Spot bursts out. “This is insane!”

“They’se in _love.”_ Crutchie says, as if saying it enough times will convince Spot that this is, in any way, a good idea. 

“I don’t care that they’re in love!” Spot yells at Crutchie before turning to Race. “Ya can’t jus’ ask him ta marry ya if ya’ve never even _talked_ about likin’ each other!”

“Why ya so against love, Spotty?” Race asks, like _Spot’s_ the one being unreasonable here. 

“I ain’t against _love,_ I’se against ya proposin’ ta Albert wit’out ever _datin’ _him!”

“Shh,” Crutchie places a hand over Spot’s mouth. “I’d be happy ta help ya, Race.”

Spot groans as Race and Crutchie begin planning the best way for Race to propose. 

An hour later, when Jack finally returns from wherever he’s been, Race and Crutchie are putting the finishing details on their ‘perfect plan’, and Spot is laying facedown a few feet away from them. 

“Uh… why’s Spot Conlon on the ground?” Jack decides is the most important question for now. 

“He’s tired.” Race answers. 

“I’m hopin’ that if I ain’t payin’ attention, someone will come up and kill me.” Spot grumbles, without moving. 

“Oh… kay? I’se jus’ gonna…” Jack climbs back over the edge of the roof and down the fire escape, he doesn’t know what’s going on, and he doesn’t _want_ to know. 

“Anywhosies… Spot! You’se gonna help, right?” Race asks eagerly. 

“No,” Spot grumbles into the ground. 

“Pretty please! I’ll be yer best friend!”

“You’se already my best friend.”

_“I’ll_ be yer best friend!” Crutchie offers emphusiasically. 

“No.” Crutchie pouts, but Spot ignores him. “All ya gotta do is walk up ta him and tell him ya like him. No trainin’ birds, no bakin’ cookies, and _no proposin’ marriage! _Just walk up to him and say ‘I like you, do you want ta go out sometime?’ That’s it.”

“Ya don’t think we can train birds?” Race asks, once again missing. The. Point. 

“Ya don’t think we can bake cookies?” Crutchie asks, clearly just as bad as Race. 

“I give up!” Spot throws his arms up in frustration. “Ya hopeless! Utterly hopeless! Why do I ever leave Brooklyn?”

Race is staring at Spot, and for the first time all day, Spot thinks he might have _actually_ heard the words that came out of his mouth. 

“You don’t think I should propose to Albert?” Race asks in a small voice. His body language has visibly changed from excited to self-conscious, his shoulders have hunched in on themselves, and his face looks like he’s been slapped. “You don’t think Albert likes me?”

Spot sighs, already feeling bad about how he yelled. “A Course Albert likes ya, that don’t mean ya should propose marriage right away. Just ask him out. On a date. Like a normal person. He’ll say yes.”

“The bracelet’s stupid isn’t it?” Asks Race, rethinking every decision he’s made today. 

“Nah, I think he’ll like it.” Spot tells him. “Just don’t ask him ta marry ya when ya give it ta him.”

“Ok… ok,” Race grabs the wristband from where it had been sitting, straightens his shoulders, and heads for the fire escape. 

“Ruinin’ all the _fun, _Conlon!” Crutchie mutters as soon as Race is gone. 

“Ya really wanted Race ta propose?” Spot asks.

“It woulda been cute.” Crutchie defends and Spot has to physically restrain himself from throwing himself off the building. _‘What is _wrong_ with Manhattan?’_

Spot climbs down the fire escape, muttering about _Manhattan _and _dumbasses_ the entire time. By the time Spot reaches the bottom of the fire escape, Race and Albert are standing a little ways down the alley, holding hands. Albert’s wearing the leather wristband, and they both have dopey grins on their faces. 

_‘Good,’ _Spot thinks. _‘Dumbasses deserve each other.’_

Despite his harsh words, Spot really is glad they got their shit together. Maybe now Race will stop coming to Brooklyn just to whine about how Albert doesn’t love him. 

They don’t notice Spot as he passes them, too wrapped up in each other. 

Spot breathes a sigh of relief as he crosses the bridge back into Brooklyn. _‘Finally, some sane people.’_


End file.
